


Come Inside

by Bookshido



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Dean Hates Witches, F/M, German Shepherds, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12900654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookshido/pseuds/Bookshido
Summary: After an accident with a group of witches, Sam and Dean find themselves in a furry situation. Trapped in bodies not their own, they find their way to Y/N's home in the middle of a thunder storm where she quickly decides to take them in. However, they can't stay in her home forever, especially with the witches on their trail.





	1. Chapter 1

“Sam, look out!” Dean yelled, diving across the floor for his gun as the witch shot a spell at Sam.

The younger Winchester barely managed to dodge, hiding behind a turned over armchair, giving Dean the chance he needed to take aim at the witch’s back. The spell slammed into the wall right where Sam had been standing and echoed with the thunder outside.

“Don’t move,” he shouted loudly. “Or I’ll shoot.”

The witch raised her hands in surrender and turned to face Dean, her lips curling up in a wide smirk.

“You got me,” she said mockingly, looking back at Sam, who had crawled out from behind the couch with his gun aimed at her head. “Look, if you’re going to kill me, do it now.” 

“No,” Dean growled, gesturing with his gun for her to get on the ground. “We want answers.” 

“Fine, ask,” she said with an eye roll. 

"Who were you trying to contact?" he asked loudly, getting closer to her. 

"Who do you think?" she said, rolling her eyes again. "Crowley, you idiot."

She pointed a well-manicured finger at the closet to the left. A small pool of blood was leaking out from under it. Sam looked like he might puke, so Dean walked over and carefully opened the door. 

The stench of blood make Dean stagger a little bit, but he held back bile and examined the grisly scene. A body was slumped in the back, a young man who’s pale skin was stained with his own bright red blood that was still wet and showed that the witch’s words were true. She’d been trying to talk to the King of Hell, but what was that huge mark on the floor for-

“Hey!” Sam yelled, cutting Dean’s thoughts off and making him spin around. 

The witch had lunged for his brother, tackling him easily and pulling out a pair of scissors. Sam was struggling, but for the witch’s light weight, she was able to pin Sam and pull the scissors up towards his neck. 

Dean took careful aim with his gun (So he wouldn’t hit Sam) and was just about to fire when someone tackled him from behind, knocking the gun out of his hands and himself to the ground with a loud thud. Dean struggled to get free as he heard Sam yell in surprise and the person on top of him placed their hand on the back of his neck and held him down. The more Dean struggled, the more his face began to ache from being pressed into the wood.

There was a metallic snap and Dean felt the hand come off of him a rush of cold air from a spot near the crown of his head that he had never had before. Getting to his feet clumsily, Dean saw Sam doing to the same and gestured for his brother to grab his gun. 

_ I don’t have it _ , Sam mouthed. 

_ What? _ Dean mouthed back surprised. 

“I have it, madam,” a much younger voice announced from the next room over. 

Sam and Dean both hurried to the door of the next room (A dilapidated kitchen, just in time to see the two witches standing over a fiery goblet. Their heads shot up when the men stood in the doorway. They shared a glance and both gave the Winchesters a wicked grin as they dropped two handfuls of hair into the fire. 

Dean’s eyes widened and he lunged for the table, trying to knock it loose, but halfway through the lunge, his eyesight went black and white and he slammed hard onto the wooden floor, a foot from the table. Dean got up slowly, testing his limbs and trying to shake his head and knock the color back into his eyesight. 

Out of the corners of his eyes, Dean saw both witches coming around the corners of the tables. He backed up, growling, then froze. 

He had growled. A deep guttural sound that came from deep in his chest. 

Dean’s ears flicked back nervously and continued backing up away from the witches, backing into someone behind him who growled at him. The growling stopped and something nudged his side, guiding him towards the door.

“Dean, we have to go,” Sam yelled, his voice sharper and coming from behind him. 

Dean spun around and was shocked to see a huge German Shepherd standing where he had heard Sam’s voice come from. It was burly, with huge shoulders that towered over Dean and long strong legs that screamed ‘Attack dog’. The dog had thick long fur that was a thick mix of brown and black fur. Only two spots on the dog had solid colors: it’s back, from the back of it’s neck to the tip of it’s tail, and it’s stomach. Those areas were black and reddish brown respectively.

He immediately looked down at what should have been his feet, but were now light tan paws. He turned his head to look at the back of him and saw that his back was covered in light tan fur that was splotched with black and grey and ended with a thick bushy tail tipped in black.  Dean gaped a moment longer, then dodged as the left witch lunged, the shock forgotten in a rush of adrenaline. 

“Run!” Sam barked, bolting out the kitchen door and through the house. Dean tried to keep up, surprised when he actually was able to keep pace with his brother. They bolted from the house and out into the pouring rain. Dean’s ears flicked back instinctively to keep the rain out and as he followed his brother through the dense forest and away from the small cabin, one thought kept running through his mind.

How the hell was he going to get back to being human?

When the lights of the cabin faded behind them and Dean had no idea where they were, Sam finally slowed his pace, coming to a panting halt next to a huge tree. He flopped down, not even noticing the huge puddle he laid down in. Dean was more careful when he sat down, choosing a spot that was fairly dry, but wincing when the leaked through his fur and chilled his skin. Dean immediately opted to stand up. 

As they tried to catch their breaths, Dean decided to try and get a better look at himself. From what he could tell, Sam was some form of shepherd, but he’d never seen one that looked like him. Dean turned his head again and looked at his other side. Nothing was very different from his right side, but when he looked down next, at his chest, there was a black mark that looked suspiciously like an anti-possession symbol.

The rain was still coming down, making both of the brothers’ fur get soaked and cling to them like they were wet rats. Anyone could clearly see their muscles through the wet fur, though Sam’s thick fur was most of it.

“What the hell, Sam,” he barked, still getting used to the feeling of every word shaking his whole body. “How did this happen?”

“Well, the witches managed to cut off some of my hair,” Sam panted, his long tongue sliding in and out of his mouth as he talked. “And jeez, can you keep it down?” Sam’s ear’s slid back as he watched Dean with a dark expression. “You’re barking is making my ears hurt and anything in a five mile radius can hear you.”

Dean tried to lower the decibel of his barking by going all the way down to a light ‘boof’ level.

“Better?” he asked Sam.

“Much, thanks,” Sam said, laying his head down on his paws. “So, what are we going to do? It’s not like we can go back to the Impala.”

“Maybe we can go get Bobby?” Dean suggested. “It can’t be that far from here.”

“Uh, yeah it is, Dean,” Sam said, staring at his brother and cocking his head. “It’s, like, a thousand miles away.”

“Alright, Einstein, you think of a better plan,” Dean snapped, growling now. 

“I will,” Sam growled back, standing up again and sending his ears back all the way as his lip curled back.

Dean lowered his stance and growled back, his lips curling back too. The two dogs circled each other, neither one stopping the growling and neither one changing position.

Until Sam tripped on a tree root and went stumbling backwards, yelping loudly. 

Dean sprung into action at the sound of his brother yelping, the fight forgotten, and ran over to help him up. 

“Are you okay?” he whined nervously, hoping he was and the argument forgotten.

“Yeah,” I’m fine,” Sam said, groaning as he stretched and shifted all of his legs. “But we need to get inside. The rain’s coming down harder and we might get stuck out here if we’re not careful.”

Dean nodded in agreement, then snorted. “Go ahead and find a house, oh genius one.”

Sam nodded and shook out his fur, sending water droplets everywhere as the thick fur tried to get rid of all of the water. Dean winced and shook out his fur too. It was an odd feeling, like his whole body was rippling and swaying, Finally, with a flourish of his tail, he finished shaking and Sam was gaping at him. Well, as well as a dog could gape at someone.

“What are you looking at?” Dean growled. 

Sam shrugged and began walking, his nose to the ground as he tried to scent his way to civilization. 

* * *

The witches stood on the porch of their cabin and stared out into the rain where the two men-turned-dogs had vanished. 

“Old Mother,” the younger witch asked hesitantly. “How do you know that the brothers will return?”

“I don’t, Little Seer,” she said with a shrug. “But soul magic, which we used on them, is the hardest to break. Eventually, they will have to return. Either them or their feathered friend. Either way, we get what we want.”

The Old Mother went inside, leaving the younger witch alone on the porch. She stared out into the rain, watching each drop fall as her eyes flicked to solid black. Smirking, she got up and headed back inside. The Old Mother was right. But there had to be a backup plan.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The rainstorm outside was pretty nasty and as you turned the page in your book, the howling wind almost shook the old farmhouse. You glanced up, a worried look resting uneasily on your face. That one sounded like a roof ripper. The last thing you needed right now was to have to shell out a couple thousand to get the roof redone. You’d let it go too long already, but this would just make your dire financial straits even worse. 

When you weren’t panicking over how you could pay your mortgage, pay for upkeep, keep gas in your car, buy groceries, and keep your prying mother out of your personal life, you were trying to get the hell away. That was what this house was supposed to do: be a sort of vacation in the countryside where you could have as much space as you wanted and just be for a while. With a sigh, you turned back to your book and started to scoot down a little, getting comfortable again. Gatsby and Nick were just begging for you to keep reading about them. 

That was when the scratching started. 

You thought your ears were playing tricks on you again, but when the scratching on your kitchen door increased in volume, you shut the book and turned over, peering over the edge of your chair at the door. You frowned, brow wrinkling as the scratching was accompanied by whining. 

Fighting back the mental screaming about how this felt like the opening of a shitty horror movie, you stood and crept through your kitchen in socked feet. You paused only to grab the large chef’s knife from your knife set and hold it firmly in your right hand. The grip was cold, but you walked forward, placing a hand on the knob.

_ Please don’t let there be Cthulhu outside this door _ , you prayed, taking a deep breath and throwing open the door.

You looked out onto the small porch block and out into the pouring rain. Then you looked down.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed, staring in shock at the sight before you.

* * *

“Do you think this is gonna work,” Dean hissed as they approached the farmhouse. “What if we get shot?”

They’d found the farmhouse after about an hour of jogging through the woods. He and Sam were soaked through and finally they spotted some lights. Whoever owned the house was still up despite it being past two in the morning and Sam had proposed that they go and see if they could get some help.

“We’re not gonna get shot,” Sam grumbled. “Besides, all you’ve got to do is give the person some puppy dog eyes and we’re golden.”

“You always had better puppy dog eyes than me,” he snapped back. “I’m gonna get us shot.”

“No, you aren’t,” Sam replied. 

They were reaching what looked like a front porch and Sam was about to start up the steps when he slipped on the first step and fell back down onto the cement back walk area. He yipped in pain, but that didn’t stop Dean from laughing at him. 

“That’s what you get,” he sniggered, tail wagging.

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, getting back to his paws. “Like you could do better.”

“I can and will,” Dean declared, walking up and placing a paw on the step. 

Sam’s thought of paw after paw hadn’t worked, but he hadn’t tried a sort of hopping approach. Dean started hopping up the stairs and managed to get almost to the top before he slipped in a more puddled section and tumbled back down the stairs. Sam was the one laughing now. 

“Stop it,” Dean snapped. 

“You did it when I fell, so just deserts,” he replied. “Why don’t we find a door without stairs?”

“I agree,” he said, getting up and shaking. 

They both trotted around the perimeter of the house and around the back, there was a ramp up along the back porch that ran around to a smaller wooden side door. The only other doors on the porch were a set of nice glass bay doors that seemed pretty well secured. 

“I vote we go and scratch on the wood door,” Sam proposed. “Don’t want to damage the glass.”

“Good idea,” Dean agreed, following Sam over. 

They both sat in front of the door and Sam started pawing at the bottom of the door. 

“I don’t think they know we’re here,” Dean hissed. “Can you do that any louder?”

Sam grumbled, but started pawing the door harder and adding some whining to the mix. It was less than a minute before the door opened and a beautiful woman in a sweatsuit holding a big knife was looking out over the backyard and then looked down at them. The woman stared at them in what looked like a mix of shock and fear. Sam only wagged his tail and barked in what he hoped was a friendly way.

* * *

“Where did you two come from,” you said, almost cooing as you knelt down and held out your fist for them to sniff. 

They seemed to be a pair of German Shepherds, judging from the colorations and patterns of their coats. You’d never seen such a fluffy one though when you saw the bigger one. That was what you decided to call them for the time being: bigger and smaller. The larger of the two was the first to take a hesitant step forward and it sniffed your fist. After a few seconds, it barked again and the tail wagging began again. You laughed a little and held out your fist to the other one. This one was much more hesitant and gave you a suspicious look. 

“I promise I’m not gonna hurt you,” you said quietly, not breaking eye contact. 

The dog’s eyes narrowed, but it stepped forward and took a single sniff of your hand. Its tail didn’t wag at all, but the dog visibly relaxed and you sighed, standing back up. 

“Alright, let’s get you two dried off and then I’ll let you inside,” you told them, reaching blindly behind you to grab the towel. 

You managed to grab the towel, but in the process, you also grabbed the edge of the knife and sliced a long line across your palm.

“Fuck!” you swore, spinning around and rushing over to the sink. “Ah; goddamn, that hurts…”

The door to the kitchen was left wide open in your hurry and as you washed the cut under cold water, you didn’t notice the dogs creeping inside. You’d been more concerned about not slipping with your socks on tile and making the situation worse.

“Dammit where is the first aid kit,” you muttered, fumbling with your good hand to dig in the drawer next to the sink for the bandages. 

Finally, you landed on the gauze pack and hurried to unwrap it. Pulling your hand out from under the water and gently shaking it dry, you prepared to wrap the wound. Blood was already coming out of it again and you held back bile from how the sight made your stomach turn. You slowly wrapped the cut and took deep shaking breaths. Alright, good. Crisis averted for now. You turned around, tying off the cut and looking for the dogs. They weren’t in the doorway anymore.

“Oh, come on,” you complained, shutting the door and turning around to go looking for the pups inside your house. “I just mopped!”

However, when you turned, the two dogs were sitting there, dripping wet, but still on the tile floor and in the kitchen.

“Oh,” you said, pausing then laughing. “Alright, now that we’ve gotten the obligatory injury out of the way, let’s get you boys dried off.”

* * *

It took you almost twenty minutes to get the bigger dog dry. He had so much hair all over that every time you thought he was fully dry, there was another layer of fur needed to be rubbed down. The other one was much easier and was ready to go after a few minutes of rubbing. The pair started rough-housing pretty quickly and you winced when they came pretty close to knocking over your wine rack. While they stayed busy, you grabbed the towels again and started cleaning up the water they’d dripped in while you’d been cleaning your cut.

“Alright, now you won’t track water everywhere,” you muttered, staring at the pair. “Um.. where the hell am I gonna put you… Ah. The basement. Get a bed or two set up, move the breakables. That’ll work.”

You whistled sharply and the two froze in their tracks. 

“Come on, boys,” you called, walking through the under the stairs door that led down to the basement. “Come on!”

The two followed and when you opened the door and gestured for them to go down, neither one moved. You frowned at them, a little confused.

“Well, go on,” you said, gesturing again. 

The bigger one whined and stepped backwards. The smaller one actually growled a little at you.

“You aren’t staying up here,” you told them, crossing your arms. “You could destroy things up here.”

Neither of them moved again and you huffed, staring at them. The larger one was giving you the puppy dog eyes again and finally, you caved. 

“Alright, fine, you can stay up here,” you conceded, shutting the basement door. “You’d better not break anything.”

The tails started wagging again and you sighed, starting to smile. “You two are going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

The bigger one barked excitedly and you started laughing, heading back to the kitchen. 


End file.
